The blizzard didn't just hide the defectors; it swallowed their screams.
"Léo! Léo, come back!" Sarah’s voice was a jagged blade, cutting through the roaring wind as she chased her ashen-faced son toward the treeline. The boy was stumbling, his small legs trembling from the touch of my void, while around them, the camp was a slaughterhouse of brothers.
I saw Harlen’s son, a boy Silas had trained himself, drive a rusted hunting knife into the shoulder of a loyalist guard. The sound was sickening—a wet, heavy thunk followed by the guard’s gurgling cry of "Traitor!" before he collapsed into the red-stained slush.
I was holding the gray barrier with everything I had, my teeth gritted so hard I thought they’d shatter.
Don't take him. Don't take Silas, I pleaded, my mind screaming at the dar
